Too Late
by Fanghur
Summary: Very angsty oneshots. Rated for character deaths.
1. Too Late

**Too Late**

AN: Yes, it's very angsty, but I felt like it, and yes, totally not original. Get over it. At least I'm posting again.

Harry looked out the window of his small room and out over the roofs of Private Drive.

_Drip, drip._

The fifteen-year old looked at the knife in his hands that reflected the moon in the night sky, and at his right wrist.

_Drip, drip._

Red lines, the bright colour leaking out and onto his tanned skin, dripping off and onto the floor.

_Drip, drip._

Two for his parents, one for Cedric, and one for his Godfather.

_Drip, drip._

All dead, all his fault. Other lines covered his left wrist and lower arm, the one holding the stained kitchen knife.

_Drip, drip._

Dozens, almost hundreds of cuts, all still bleeding. His friends getting hurt because of him.

_Drip, drip._

Switching hands, Harry cut more into that arm.

_Drip, drip._

No longer caring about the puddle of blood at his feet that was steadily growing larger.

_Drip, drip._

All he wanted was the pain, the release from the torment in his heart.

_Drip, drip._

Everything was his fault. If he had used his head, so much pain would have been avoided.

_Drip, drip._

The raven haired teen gave a small smile as his vision started to go black.

_Drip, drip, thump._

Harry slumped sideways off his chair, landing in the pool of crimson liquid that covered much of his floor.

That morning, when his Aunt Petunia opened his door, she screamed loud enough to wake anyone, though it wasn't enough to wake the so-called Boy-Who-Lived. It was too late, just like how it was too late for Sirius Black, Cedric Diggory, and James and Lily Potter, so to was it too late for Harry Potter.


	2. Too Late mark two

**Too Late mark 2**

A young man, just 18 of age, laid on his back, staring at a cloudy sky.

_Tha-thump, tha-thump_

The blood from the hole in his chest still pouring out at a fast rate, even some time after.

_Tha-thump, tha-thump_

He remembered how he had been pulled into the back alley he was in now, the person demanding money.

_Tha-thump, tha-thump_

Before he could do anything, they heard police sirens and the man had panicked and shot him, running out of the alley.

_Tha-thump, tha-thump_

A bit of blood bubbled at his mouth as he reflected on how a wizard had been defeated so easily by a man with a gun.

_Tha-thump, tha-thump_

His wand lay too far for him to reach, and every time he moved so much as a centimetre, an intense pain seared from his wound, causing him to stop.

_Tha-thump, tha-thump_

Who knew that one of the people to defeat the greatest Dark Lord ever would die like this. Dying in an alley from a bullet. Heh, and the war was to save muggles. How ironic.

_Tha-thump, tha-thump_

He could barely feel his heart beating. He knew he didn't have much time, but his worry seemed to fade with every feeble pulse.

_Tha-thump…_

Harry Potter closed his eyes, falling into the black oblivion that he had managed to evade for so long. By the time someone stumbled across him, it would be too late. The Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, had finally enter Death's embrace.


	3. Death Isn't Always the End of Life

**Death Isn't Always the End of Life **

AN: I know that this isn't a 'Too Late' story, but I felt it suited the emo/angst feel.

Harry sat in a little alcove in Hogwarts somewhere, far from any of the beaten paths most students walked. He pulled out an unremarkable looking piece of parchment that at the words "I solemnly swear I am up to no good", became a map of Hogwarts. Looking at it, the teenager was satisfied with how none of his friends were anywhere near his spot on the fifth floor, nor was anyone else in danger of disturbing his privacy.

Wiping the map clean, he searched through his pocket, finally withdrawing a black, pointy quill. Slowly, he rested the point on the top of a page in a muggle notebook, and began to write. The words cut themselves into his flesh, bleeding a bit before healing, only for it to be sliced open in new words as he wrote the next line.

_Though surrounded by ones that call themselves friends, I fight alone._

_Though they say they stand beside me, I alone am cut to the bone._

_I alone am the symbol of hope in this war._

_I alone feel nothing at my core._

_People see a hero, a beacon of Light,_

_Yet I am lost in the eternal night._

_Looking at me, they never can tell_

_That inside no spirit can dwell._

_For I am dead, not in body but in soul._

_I pretend otherwise, but instead of a heart there is only a hole._

_Long ago Death came to me wielding his scythe._

_Who knew death isn't always the end of life?_

Harry looked around, and waited for the red liquid to dry before closing his notebook, packing everything up. Leaving, he left no trace of his inner feelings except a few drops of blood here and there, looking to all the world like crimson tears.


End file.
